I was convinced that I'd drank away my child-bearing years, not to mention wasted opportunities to find Mr. Right. He wasn't hanging out at the bars I was, anyway. And I was slowly extricating from a 5-year relationship with Mr. Almost-but-not-quite-Right, who is now a very dear friend. And my tired, sick body was pronounced almost certainly done with ovulation and all that good stuff, not to mention the fact that I do have lots of scars and inner scar tissue that made the possibility of carrying a child inconcievable. Hee! Inconcievable. Ironic, isn't it?
Grace is certainly pushing her way around my insides, making room to grow and taking her own space inside me, as I imagine she will claim her own space in the world, as well. I'm thrilled at the thought of being the vessel and support for such a wondrous event. She's bound and determined, that's for sure.
So I'm actually starting to believe that becoming an old woman is possible, and definitely desirable. And that my regrets will be limited, if at all. I plan to live as if it's all possible.